


Vice Versa

by Dimity Blue (Arnie)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bodyswap, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arnie/pseuds/Dimity%20Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John frowned at the innocuous-looking box. "It's not dangerous, is it?"</p><p>"Of course not," Sherlock said, sounding as though he'd never dream of acquiring anything dangerous.</p><p>"Oh, good." As Sherlock lifted the lid, some impulse prompted John to add, "Sure of that, are you?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vice Versa

**Author's Note:**

> Possible trigger warning: Bad attitudes to food

John sighed happily to himself. He had the whole day off, there was no sign of Greg with any complex case that needed Sherlock's help and all of John's diplomatic skills to stop Sherlock from alienating the whole of New Scotland Yard, and Sherlock had just departed to the morgue so he could persuade (order) Molly to part company with a spleen. Why a spleen, John didn't know and didn't care to ask. He'd spent the past three days chasing after Sherlock who'd been chasing after a murderer and, since the chase had involved numerous visits to sewers, John felt he'd earned the whole day to himself and was going to relax.

With that in mind, he'd spent the morning soaking in the bath while watching his fingers wrinkle. That had also involved ignoring the ominous bangs, thuds and (oddly) loud whistles that Sherlock was making, but since John had seen far more of London's sewer system than he'd ever wanted to, so far as he was concerned Sherlock could do what he liked as long as he didn't actually blow anything up.

Now, Sherlock had gone to annoy Molly, and John planned on a long lunch followed by nothing more strenuous than reading the newspaper.

The thud of the front door and footsteps running up the stairs was his first clue that his afternoon might not go as planned.

"What are you doing back?"

Sherlock waved him off impatiently. "My parcel's arrived." He deposited a small parcel on the coffee table, then paused to take his coat off before cutting the string wrapped around the parcel.

"It must be a pretty important parcel to stop you from going to Bart's."

"I've been waiting for this for two weeks now. I had to find a scientist who'd import it for me from Guatemala."

John frowned at the innocuous-looking box. "It's not dangerous, is it?"

"Of course not," Sherlock said, sounding as though he'd never dream of acquiring anything dangerous.

"Oh, good." As Sherlock lifted the lid, some impulse prompted John to add, "Sure of that, are you?"

~~~

John blinked, coughed, then blinked some more as he became aware of the carpet pressed against his cheek. His head stopped spinning and he realised he was on the floor by the side of the coffee table, a greyish mist filling the air. After a minute or two of trying, he got his hands underneath him and pushed up onto his hands and knees, then crawled to the window and threw it open. As fresh air flowed in, his head cleared some more and John looked around. He could see Sherlock's legs - his upper body was hidden behind the armchair, but the legs were moving so Sherlock had to be waking up.

"Sherlock?" His voice sounded weird, so John coughed again before staggering to his feet. He felt off-kilter, as though his body didn't quite fit right. "Sherlock."

The body rolled to its back and Sherlock sat up. "John?"

John's jaw dropped. For a six foot tall beanpole with dark, wild, curly hair, Sherlock was looking remarkably shorter...and fairer. Dark-blue eyes widened and John's head spun some more. He'd only ever seen his face by looking in a mirror; seeing it from the outside, as it were, was disconcerting to say the least. "Sherlock, you're...me..."

"No, you're..." Sherlock's voice - John's own voice, John realised - trailed off as he raised his hands and gazed at them. For a moment, there was silence, then Sherlock shot to his feet and disappeared into the bathroom.

John ran after him, or tried to. He felt as though there was too much leg under him, so after a few steps he slowed to a walk and carefully followed Sherlock in. Seeing someone else operating his body was weird, but that was nothing to staring into the mirror and seeing Sherlock's face look back at him.

"We've swapped bodies!" Sherlock turned. "You do realise this is physically impossible?"

"It's no good saying that when it's happened, Sherlock!" John snapped. "Look at us!"

"Yes." There was silence for a moment, then Sherlock added, "I never realised how tall I am. Or how short you are. And look at these arms!" He stretched out his arms then pulled them back in to his chest. "They're so short! How do you reach anything?" He made little grabby motions with his hands, keeping his arms tucked in.

"Like every other able-bodied person on the planet, Sherlock, I stretch out my arm." John rubbed his hand over his face, ignoring how weird the different features felt to him. "Just tell me this isn't what you ordered from Guatemala!"

"Of course it isn't! Why would Guatemala have some kind of substance that makes people swap bodies?"

John really didn't know. "I need tea." He headed for the kitchen, Sherlock following on behind him.

"Your legs are so short!"

As John reached the kitchen, he heard Sherlock walking up and down the hall, presumably trying out John's legs for size.

"How do you get anywhere? It must take you hours!"

John reached for the kettle, then stopped; Sherlock's arms really were longer. The buzz of Sherlock's phone made him jump, and he fished it out of his pocket, then groaned as he saw the name. "It's Mycroft!"

Sherlock came in, a familiar look on his face, though seeing it on John's own face was distinctly disturbing. He took his phone from John, then showed him the message:

_If you receive a brown-paper parcel tied up with string, DO NOT OPEN IT. MH._

John raised his eyebrows. "It's a bit late for that." As Sherlock dashed over to the coffee table and leaned over the small box, John ran after him. "Don't touch it!"

"It's already done what it was going to do; I don't see how it could do anything more." Sherlock put his phone to one side, then tilted the box slightly. "I'll have to analyse this powder."

"Text Mycroft back. Ask him what he knows."

"Ask _Mycroft?"_ Sherlock sounded disgusted at the thought.

"He knows what this is - ask him."

Sherlock's phone buzzed again and John grabbed it.

_You already opened it, didn't you? MH._

John opened the reply box, then held the phone over his head as Sherlock tried to grab it from him. The look of indignation that spread across Sherlock's face was almost worth it.

"You can't use my body against me!" Sherlock snapped.

"It's my body at the moment!" John began to type a reply, still holding the phone high.

"It's..."

Looking down, John saw a triumphant look spread across Sherlock's face.

"It is, isn't it?"

He dashed off into the hall and John followed. "Where are you going?"

As Sherlock's bedroom door slammed shut and the key turned, John ran after him and banged on the door. "Sherlock, come out of there with my body!" John's imagination ran wild; Sherlock could do anything to his body and John wouldn't be able to stop him. He pounded on the door again. "Sherlock! I want my body back!"

The sound of the front door opening and footsteps running up the stairs made John turn on the spot. "Greg!"

Greg stopped and smiled, a hint of surprise on his face. "Nice to see you too, Sherlock."

The door behind him opened and John almost fell backwards, then he almost fell forwards as Sherlock barged past him.

"You have a case! What is it?"

Greg looked from John to Sherlock, then back again. "Is this a joke?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Lestrade!" Sherlock snapped. "Tell me about the case!"

There was silence as Greg stared at them.

"Well?!"

"Well indeed," Mycroft said in reply as he came up the stairs.

John sighed. "Thank God," which earned him another odd look from Greg.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock demanded.

Mycroft ignored him. "I'm afraid you're about to be ticketed," he told Greg. "You're double-parked."

Greg looked confused. "No, I'm not."

"Stop interfering! Lestrade, tell me about the case!"

Mycroft continued to ignore Sherlock and instead raised an eyebrow at Greg, who sighed.

"Right then, I'll be off and move my car."

"I think that's wise," Mycroft said. "I'm sure you'll be able to park more successfully tomorrow."

As Greg retreated down the stairs, Sherlock followed him, shouting at him to return. After a few seconds, he stormed back up the stairs. "Why is he ignoring me?"

"Because you're me," John replied, feeling oddly satisfied as Sherlock flounced off into the kitchen. "I take it we'll be back to normal by tomorrow then?"

"Well, I can't promise that," Mycroft said, not even a hint of a smirk escaping him, "but you will be yourselves again. The process should reverse itself in approximately three hours." As thuds and bangs reached them from the kitchen, Mycroft headed that way. "Of course, there'd be no need for anything to reverse itself if you'd obeyed my directive and not opened that parcel."

John followed him in. "In Sherlock's defence, he'd already opened the parcel when your text arrived."

"Ha! See!" Sherlock slammed the freezer door shut, a packet of cutlets in his hand. "This body is hungry - will this be enough to feed it?"

John stared at him. "A six pack of cutlets? I should say so." He took the cutlets and stuck them back in the freezer. "Why don't you just have some cheese on toast?"

"Will that be enough? This body's demanding food!"

"Really, brother -"

At that, Sherlock seemed to explode with rage. "Go home, Mycroft - you've probably got cake waiting for you!"

There was a brief pause, then, "I have, actually. A triple-layer Black Forest gateau with fresh cream and Belgian chocolate."

For a moment, John thought Sherlock was going to drool, then, "Get out!"

As Mycroft left the kitchen, John followed him. "This, uh, powder..."

"Ah, yes. I'm afraid it's classified, of course."

"Of course." John wasn't interested in that, though he was impressed with how calmly Mycroft was handling that box as he put the lid on and slipped it into his pocket. "Why was it sent to Sherlock?"

A hint of embarrassment appeared on Mycroft's face. "The scientist in question seemed to think that was the best way to get his funding renewed."

"With Sherlock being your brother, you mean."

"Yes, a practical demonstration, as it were."

"Very practical." John glanced back at Sherlock. "I'm surprised his funding was cancelled."

 _"His_ funding has been. As for the project, I'm afraid -"

"Yeah, classified. So, three hours, then?"

"Approximately." Mycroft smiled. "Please do let me know when you're yourself again."

As soon as he was gone, John returned to the kitchen to find Sherlock putting more bread under the grill. "Aren't you going to eat what you already made?"

"Yes." Sherlock picked up a slice and started eating. "That's for when I've finished this."

John eyed the plateful. "I don't think you'll want more."

"I want it all." He took another bite. "And then I want to break into Mycroft's house and steal his cake. John, what's happening to me?"

"You're too hungry, that's all. Eat your cheese on toast." John picked up a slice, then put it down and rubbed his stomach. "Do you ever get hungry?"

"Yes, of course." After another two mouthfuls, he added, "Sometimes. Not like this though - this is terrible."

John sighed. "I was looking forward to my lunch."

~~~

Half an hour later, John was hiding behind the newspaper as Sherlock ran around trying out everything. Various exclamations reached him from the different parts of the flat, as Sherlock apparently found it fascinating that John couldn't reach the top shelf or his bed wasn't too short or his shoes were so small. Finally, Sherlock came in and flopped onto the sofa.

"I feel sick."

John didn't even bother lowering the paper. "You ate half a loaf of bread and almost a whole block of cheese, and then ran around like a mad thing. What do you expect?"

"This body was hungry! You didn't want me to starve it, did you?"

"Sherlock!" John put the paper down. "I told you you didn't need to eat so much - why didn't you listen?"

"But I was hungry!"

"Something which has never happened to you before, obviously." John looked at the clock. "Why don't you find something to do to keep you occupied? You must be bored with staring at my scar by now." John also suspected Sherlock had taken photos.

"I want to go to Bart's! I want to do experiments!"

"I don't think going out would be a good idea." Greg had known there was something wrong within two minutes. And John didn't want to spend the next few days apologising to all the people 'he' had offended.

"No, I don't want to spend the rest of the day unconscious."

"What?" Who'd said anything about being unconscious?

"Mycroft's team." Sherlock gazed at him, an impatient look in his eyes. "Surely you don't think Mycroft would risk classified information getting out?"

"Well, no..."

"Obviously, there's a team watching us to make sure we don't go out." As John's jaw dropped, Sherlock added, a reassuring tone in his voice, "Oh, they'll be armed with tranquiliser darts, nothing more."

"Mycroft didn't say anything about that!"

"He knew I'd realise and there's no point telling you since you won't go out like this."

John felt rather indignant that Mycroft saw him as such a good little soldier, but it was even more annoying that Sherlock was right.

"I still feel sick."

John sighed and looked at the clock again. "I'll make tea." He gazed at the wall while waiting for the kettle to boil, then frowned. "Sherlock, have you been scribbling on the walls?"

"It's not scribble; I was making notes."

The offended dignity in his voice almost made John smile, but it faded as he realised Sherlock had been 'making notes' everywhere. Hopefully, they - or rather, John - could clean them off before Mrs. Hudson got back from her sister's. Some of the marks were puzzling though, especially the ones on the bathroom floor. John stared at them, then at the toilet, then stormed into the sitting room. "Sherlock, were you seeing how far I could pee?"

There was silence for a long moment, then, "No?"

John struggled with himself, then marched straight up to his bedroom. That was it - he wasn't coming out until he was himself again.

Almost two hours later, there was a quiet knock on his bedroom door.

"It's time. Do you want to come down to the sitting room?"

"No." For a moment, John stared at his bedroom ceiling, - he was fine, he was lying down - then he sat bolt upright. "Sherlock, sit down, for the love of God!" If Sherlock killed him falling down the stairs, John would come back to haunt him, he swore he would. He dived up off the bed and threw himself at the door, but his head started spinning before he got there, and the floor came up to meet him.

~~~

"John? John!"

John opened his eyes, his head still spinning, then he smiled as he realised he was outside his bedroom door, his back propped up against the wall. At least Sherlock had sat down before they changed back. He blinked a few times, then looked up at Sherlock - actually _at_ Sherlock. "We did it, then."

"Obviously." Sherlock held out his hand and John let him help him up. "Well, that was an interesting afternoon."

"Yeah." John rubbed his stomach. "At least I'm not feeling sick."

"Oh, that went off about an hour ago."

John still wasn't impressed, but at least he was back in a body he understood. "I want tea." He headed off down the stairs, and wasn't surprised when Sherlock detoured to the bathroom. He turned the kettle on, then leaned against the countertop, waiting.

The sudden squawk of shock was music to his ears, and he smiled as Sherlock screeched, "John, why is my pee blue?!"

The end.


End file.
